


Not Every House Is A Home

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Brothels, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Donovan's, everyone has a specialty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Every House Is A Home

**Author's Note:**

> _Jet Star is a narcoleptic hooker. Each of the killjoys have their own special way of performing for clients, but Jet Star's thing is being unconscious, and then waking up being fucked by anonymous men, who began without his knowledge. I'd love for Jet Star to wake up blindfolded, and on top and inside of him is a fellow killjoy and he knows it because they all smell the same, but he can't figure out who._ from killjoy kinkmeme.
> 
> Fic was also inspired by this picture:  
> [](http://photobucket.com)

Sometimes the Killjoys crash at Donovan’s Cabana for a few months. It’s a pretty big split level house, basement and upstairs remodeled into a bunch of tiny bedrooms. It’s in Zone One, and no matter what time of day or night there are patrons, some from Battery City, some from the outer zones.

The rule is if you’re in your room, you’re available. There’s nowhere inside the house to be if you’re not in your room. The kitchen is strictly for prep, not a single stool to rest on, and if you try to hide in the single bathroom for more than a few minutes someone will protest, _loudly_. Going outside isn’t much of an option either, the area of Zone One that Donovan’s Cabana is in is known for frequent acid wind. But people want to be in their rooms, if they didn’t they wouldn’t have bothered to come. Everyone here knows what they’re doing.

Like everything else in the world, it’s a trade off, in this case goods for services. They only go as a group, only when everyone is ready and-or resigned to it. Fun Ghoul’s always the final holdout, the one with the biggest problem with what Donovan asks. Jet Star thinks he’s probably the one with the least amount of inner turmoil about it, because as the months wear on the memories of Donovan’s get better and better until he’s casually suggesting to Party Poison that they might go in for a recharge.

That’s what it comes down to, basically. Donovan’s is a place where people can go for a regular place to eat, an actual bed to sleep in. After eight months of Power Pup and lizard meat, an apple is about the most delicious thing in the world. A balled up spare vest can in no way compare to an actual pillow. It doesn’t matter how little time you actually get, any lukewarm shower is heaven after months of making do with an industrial sized box of BLI wet-naps. And those are just the perks of staying. When you leave Donovan gets most of the money you’ve earned, but a little goes back to them, in Battery City cred or anything you can imagine to barter with.

Jet’s not exactly sure where on the scale of legal to illegal it is, but if SCARECROW comes it’s to get serviced, not to drag anyone away. Jet’s seen their bullshit newspaper, he knows the Killjoys are wanted. He’s seen a few people that should have blasted him at least on a stun level before taking him in, and they haven’t. Whether they’re being paid off, or they don’t care when they’re off-duty is anyone’s guess. 

The thing about being a resistance fighter is Jet Star can’t stop himself from falling asleep. It didn’t start until after they headed for the zones. At first everyone thought it was just detoxing from the Better Living Industry poisons, the way Frank could feel spiders crawling all over him and sometimes James couldn’t stop crying. Gerard had basically kidnapped everyone he knew without a real plan, and that had included not having a strategy for Mikey’s constant puking or his own high fever. By the time James and Lyn-Z said fuck it and went back to the city, and they’d revamped themselves into fighting machines, Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid were normal and Jet Star was still falling asleep at random times. The only thing they could figure was that Jet Star had a disorder of some kind and unmedicated it wouldn’t stop.

Jet Star wasn’t James, he couldn’t make himself go back to the whiteness and nothingness of Battery City to have the problem fixed, not with the knowledge of all the other things that they would fix without his permission. If he'd known which one of the fifteen pills it was the Killjoys could have stolen a batch. But he’s got no idea, and trial and error isn’t something you want to fuck around with when it comes to B.L. Industries meds. So the Killjoys deal with it. Jet doesn’t drive. He doesn’t do guard duty either. When he’s shooting Dracs away out the back of the Trans Am there’s someone on back up beside him. In the desert it’s not that huge of an issue, no worse than Kobra Kid sometimes seeing things that aren’t there.

At Donovan’s his little problem is an asset. Everyone has their specialty. It’s almost typecasting, Donovan’s runs on word of mouth advertising, and once patrons know Kobra Kid is back anyone that wants double penetration will grab a friend and the nearest car, or if Halestorm is back everyone into chains runs to the place panting. Jet Star’s specialty is somnophilia, of course. People like to take advantage of others, and there’s not a lot of difference between walking into a room and knowing you have the right to fuck that person, and walking into a room and knowing you have the right to fuck that sleeping person. Jet doesn’t care, if the patrons are in the Cabana Donovan has used whatever screening technique he has. None of the rebels know what it is, Donovan doesn't exactly make friends and wax melodic on his business system. But no one’s ever been arrested or murdered, and that’s all that matters.

Jet Star’s had a good morning, and from the brief time he’s had to talk to Party and Kobra Kid, so have they. He doesn’t consider asking Fun Ghoul. Just like Jet’s the first to ask about going to Donovan’s, Fun Ghoul’s the first to ask about leaving. Party Poison hasn’t said anything about Ghoul trying to rally him into going back to the desert, but Jet Star knows it’s coming soon. When Fun Ghoul starts up Jet Star will hear it through the grapevine, not from him directly. He tries to stay away from Ghoul as much as he can while they’re here. Talking to him here only ever results in fights, his determination towards having frequent sex is always misinterpreted as being _happy_ about what they’re doing. He’s not, he just wants to get as much value as he can for their actions.

It’s not a surprise to wake up to someone fucking him. There are three classic positions for this. If Jet had sex with women there would probably be more, but he has a strictly male clientele so it’s either side or stomach. When he’s on his side they spoon behind him. When he sleeps on his stomach some men lay on top of him like a blanket. The more industrious will contort him, shoving him into a floppy hands and knees position, face baring the brunt of his weight on the pillow. Jet can tell he hasn’t been out long, the pillow hasn’t gotten damp from his open mouth.

Normally he’d be drifting into thoughts the new set of jeans he’s going to get when they leave, or that he’s heard rumors there’s going to be actual cow meat later at dinner. The men never care if he’s hard, in fact it goes against his specialty to seem into it. It’s not like he’s Party Poison, who always has to be hard and completely into every act. The time is better passed if he has something interesting to daydream about. This time is different though. Something keeps pulling him back into the screwing.

It takes him a minute to realise what is it. It’s what the four of them joke is the ‘Trans Am’ smell. They’ve all noticed they smell alike, and it can’t be the sweat or the sand or their sunburned skin because they’re by far not the only ones in the desert, and the smell is unique to them. The person fucking him shouldn’t smell like it, it’s _their_ smell. There’s only one explanation.

“Why are you doing this now? If you waited you wouldn’t have to pay.” Jet’s got no doubt that Donovan is still asking payment. He’s a Better Living citizen at heart, really, in everything for the money.

It takes him a second to realise he’s not going to answer. Jet knows all of their voices, individual in a way smells can’t be. He’d know the person in moments if he tried to explain his motivations. In the position he’s in, it would be easy to raise his head and look behind him. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know why Party or Kobra or Ghoul is doing this, but he trusts them with his life, he sure as hell can trust them with his ass. If he wants anonymity so he can touch him, Jet Star’s not going to steal that away.

He wants to tell him that he can ask for this again when they’re back out by the diner, and he’ll agree. Instead he stays still and pretends to sleep. Jet can’t imagine any of them actively wanting to take advantage of him, but if this is a fantasy telling him it’s okay to continue wanting it will just ruin the moment. He can speak later, this moment is best met with keeping his breathing even and shallow into the slowly dampening pillow.


End file.
